Blood and Pearl
by TheCrimsonAuthoress
Summary: Late at night by the glow of the fire, Henry finally lets himself make a confession to his wife. He doesn't know that she can hear every word. The White Princess, TV show universe, oneshot.


Author's Note: The usual disclaimers apply: I do not own anything regarding the White Queen, White Princess, or Spanish Princess, I am merely an eternal fan of historical fiction in general, and Tudor England in particular. Pleas enjoy fellow fans!

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**Blood and Pearl**

He lay on his side in bed, just staring at her.

Her golden hair fanned out behind her in disarray, her soft, pale skin was flushed, and her eyelashes lay gently upon the tops of her cheeks. Her lips were parted, and he could hear her steady breathing, watched the gentle rise and fall of her shoulder blades. She had fallen asleep with his hand rubbing circles upon her back, and he had stilled the motion of his fingers, letting his hand be a soft, warm weight, a way to maintain contact with her skin. Even after making love, he needed to feel her, to remain connected to her.

He could hardly believe that he was doing this, touching her not with blind lust or out of marital obligation, but because he couldn't think of any other woman he would rather be with than her.

Because he loved her.

He had only recently let himself admit this thought in his own mind. The realization had been growing steadily, but he had forced it down. He could not love a member of the house of his sworn enemies. He could not love the woman he had been forced to marry for political reasons. He could not love a woman who despised him.

How funny that _could not_ had turned into _can, will, do_.

No one had ever denied that she was beautiful, but that wasn't the half of her. She was fierce, angry, passionate, loyal, incredibly intelligent, strong. When they fought, she matched him in every blow. When they had reached the stage where they could exchange civil words, she had shown restraint in her barbs, gentleness in her praise that thundered in his ears. When they made love, she equaled his boldness. And when she had shown him their son, his tears had been reflected in her own eyes.

He had admired her from the moment he had met her, but he hadn't realized that his heart could love so deeply until about a month ago, when she had come into his rooms late one night after putting Arthur to bed with his nurse. He hadn't been able to sleep, his mind a mass of swirling thoughts, alternating between visions of Lancastrian rebels and the golden hair of the Rivers girl, his wife. What would it feel like to have her look to him with tenderness, maybe even love, in her eyes? To watch him and admire him, instead of looking for ulterior motives, for a strategy to employ? To trust him enough to confide in him, to plan with him, to share her life with him, truly?

He had heard her slip in, close the door, and crawl under the bedclothes with him. He hadn't known what to think at first, until she put her hand on his arm. The action had not been wanton or demanding. She had simply needed to touch him, to be with him. She had come to him not because he had summoned her, but because she had wanted to.

He had turned around without a word, and had tucked her face into his chest, marveling at how the curvature of her head fit perfectly under his chin. She had wrapped her arms around him, and he had wrapped his around her waist. He'd let out a small sigh of contentment, and let her warmth spread through him. He knew, in that moment, that he would do anything to protect the woman in his arms, to be her strength, to be the one she would come to for help, for guidance, for love. She trusted him, and he would do the same. Together, they could make the future they wanted. That they both deserved. That England deserved.

Now, gazing down at her in the firelight, her skin still glowing with sweat, her face flushed from their lovemaking, her breathing even and untroubled, her spirit at rest, he felt his heart swell with pride that he could make her feel so safe, so cared for. He could finally say it, even if it was just a hoarse whisper.

"I love you, Lizzie."

He hadn't anticipated how delicious the words felt on his lips, how warm they made his heart, how they would lift his soul up to soar on wings of joy. This confession felt wonderful. He had to let the rest of it escape the confines of his closed mouth, to roam freely in the air between them.

"I love how you challenge me. I love your fierce loyalty, your stubborn pride, the way your eyes spark like flint when you're angry." How well he remembered some of their worst rows. It was amazing that he could be both furious and impressed when she matched his temper.

"I love when your mind takes the same turn mine does, and when your words turn gentle when you see I am upset." He had been pleasantly surprised to find that her temper was equaled by her compassion.

"I love the way you say my name, and how you whisper it in my ear when you need me. I love your beautiful eyes, your golden hair, your soft skin. I love feeling the curves of your body and the way you feel under my hands." Just remembering the feel of her body beneath his set his skin on fire.

"I love that you are the mother of my child. I love how much you love our son. I love that together, we see what is right for England. I love that you are the woman by my side as I try to be a good king. God, I love you Lizzie."

His gaze continued to take in her form, his hand still upon her back. He had never imagined that a moment like this could be his. His eyes roamed down to take in the firelight flickering in her long, golden tresses. If sunbeams were made solid, they would look just like her hair.

"I love you too, Henry."

His gaze snapped back up to her face to find that her eyes were open, and looking right at him. His heart leaped in his chest. For one moment, he froze, petrified. He hadn't known she had heard him.

She seemed to sense his surprise, for her eyes softened and she repeated the words he had not yet taken in.

"I love you, Henry." He felt the words rumble against his hand, still on her back. She propped her head up against her hand, her eyes never leaving his.

"I love your courage and your boldness, the way you remain confident even in dark uncertainty. I love your strength of mind, and how you always try to do the right thing even when others are trying to sway you." He felt pride welling up inside of him at her every word.

"I love that you are kind. I love that you strive to be just, and show mercy to your enemies." He saw tears forming in her eyes, and knew she was thinking of his clemency towards her mother.

"I love the way you look at me like an equal when we are in council together, and I love when you agree with my ideas." She was looking so earnestly at him, that he felt tears gathering in his own eyes.

Her eyes darkened, her whisper becoming husky. "I love the way my lips burn when you kiss me, and the way it feels to have you inside me." He exhaled, releasing a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

She shifted under his hand slightly. "I love how you love our son, and how excited you were the day he was born, how proud of me you were. I love that you are my husband Henry. I love you."

Her gaze was still locked on his own, and for a few moments, they did not need any more words. Slowly, he brought his hand up from its place on her back to cup the side of her face, his thumb caressing her soft cheek, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen. He didn't realize tears were streaming down his own cheeks until her fingers came up to gently nudge them away. Slowly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead, silently promising her all of his strength, protection, and love. She exhaled in a soft sigh, her fingers tangling in his hair and gently pulling his face down to meet his lips with her own. He felt her promise him all of her support, strength, and love, sealed with this most sacred of embraces.

They eventually parted, and she looked up at him once more, her lips curving into a smile.

"Who would have thought that I would fall in love with the red Welsh dragon?"

He met her gaze with an answering smile. "The same person who could predict that I would fall in love with a white princess."

She laughed, and the sound lit his soul like a thousand lantern lights. He laughed along with her as he took her in his arms and they lay together, marveling at the wonder of unexpected true love.


End file.
